Chapter 19 Ella
Ben is getting tested today.
I couldn’t think about anything else. I couldn’t do anything but worry. I sat in front of my computer, Photoshop open, with the latest draft of the month of January for my wildlife calendar series filling the screen. I hadn’t touched the mouse in half an hour.
Sam, my little empath, stood next to me, his head on my leg. I curled my fingers into the fur on his neck, feeling like my grip on him was the only thing holding me together. If I let go, I’d curl up in a ball and start sobbing.
This was terrible. The worst I’d felt since Renee started to go downhill. And it brought up all of the associated emotions. I was crippled by them. To the point that I recognized I might need some professional help to pull myself out of it.
“Come on, bud,” I told Sam.
I paced out into the living room and curled up on the chaise, and Sam bounded up next to me.
Fred, right behind him, jumped onto the footrest and sprawled out next to my legs.
I opened my phone and checked, for the millionth time, if Ben had been spotted in Boston yet.
It looked like no. Thank God. The last thing he needed on top of everything else was the attention of the media.
Feeling only slightly better, I pulled up my sister-in-law’s number and hit the call button. It was Saturday, so she shouldn’t be working. Not unless a client needed an emergency session.
She answered on the third ring. “Hey there, stranger.”
“Sofia?” I said, my voice raw.
“Ella? What’s wrong?”
“Can I come over?”
“Of course. Are you okay?”
“No, but I can’t get into it over the phone or I’ll lose it.”
“I understand. Come on over. We’re home.”
“Thank you so much.”
We hung up. I forced myself to stand. I got all the way to the front door and started pulling on my winter gear on before I looked down at myself.
When was the last time I showered? The day before Ben left?
Had I been wearing these pajamas since that night?
I pulled the fabric of my shirt up and smelled it.
Ew.
Sam pressed against my leg and whimpered. I must have looked as bad as I felt.
“I’m okay,” I told him, though why I felt the need to lie to my dog about my mental state was beyond me.
I dropped my snow pants and went to shower.
I scrubbed myself under the hot water until my skin turned red.
Afterward, I pulled on clothes without really looking at them and braided my hair because I didn’t have the bandwidth for anything else.
Then I was out the door, tugging on my heavy coat as I went.
I blasted the heat in the truck while the dogs went pee-poop.
It was still frigid in the cab when I pulled out onto the road, but I didn’t have the patience to wait any longer.
I forced myself to drive the speed limit to Sophia and Jacob’s place: a decent-sized colonial farmhouse down in the valley closer to town. Snowmen dotted their yard – a sign that the boys had taken full advantage of their recent snow days.
Sophia met me at the door. She wore leggings and a large sweater that swamped her small frame.
Her thick, curly hair fell loose around her in perfect ringlets that I’d always been covetous of.
Even with copious amounts of hairspray, I could never achieve them.
She looked polished and put together. I felt like shit in comparison, guilt at letting myself fall apart warring for dominance with all the other emotions battling it out in the gladiatorial arena that had become my mind.
She reached out and hugged me. “Hi.”
“Hi. Thanks again for this.”
We pulled apart, and she handed me a couple of towels to clean the dogs off with. The second they were free, they raced past us in search of my nephews.
“You look like hell,” she said.
I wasn’t insulted. I needed her bluntness right now. “I feel like hell.”
Evan came around the corner of the hallway, Fred hot on his heels. “Auntie Ella?” He beamed when he caught sight of me, then started running.
I scooped him up and hugged him to me, trying to keep my tears at bay.
“Are you sick?” he asked when I set him down. “You don’t look good.”
“Not sick,” I said. “Just sad.”
He frowned for a second, staring up at me, and then his expression brightened, as though he’d just had a great idea. He turned and raced upstairs.
“What’s he doing?” I asked his mom.
Sofia shrugged.
He came back holding his teddy bear and offered it up to me. “Mr. Bear always makes me feel better when I’m sad.”
Oh, Jesus.
I reached out and took it. Moisture gathered in my eyes, threatening to spill over. “Thank you so much, Evan.”
Sofia leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. “You are so sweet to share Mr. Bear with Auntie Ella.”
He kissed her back, then turned and headed into the house.
“Come on. I have ice cream,” she told me.
We walked down the long hallway to the kitchen, pausing by the living room so I could say hi to Michael, who sprawled out on the floor, playing with Sam, while his brother and Fred crowded together in an armchair watching cartoons.
Sofia’s phone rang from the kitchen island as she pulled the freezer open.
She turned to pick it up and answered in Italian.
It must have been her mother. She was the only person I’d heard her speak nothing but Italian to.
With her sisters, it was usually a mix of Italian and English. With her dad, straight English.
They chatted for several minutes while Sofia found bowls and spoons for the two of us and then scooped us out healthy dollops of Cherry Garcia.
“How’s Ma Trocci?” I asked after she hung up.
“Better now that Bernadetta is back at home to help with the bills.”
“She’s your youngest sister, right? The math whiz?”
Sophia nodded. “The place she interned with just offered her a job. It’s some high-end wealth management firm in Boston, so she should be able to start making some headway in her student debt.”
“I thought she had all those scholarships.”
“She did,” she told me, pausing to take a bite of ice cream.
“But Harvard is still outrageously expensive, and they didn’t cover all her costs.
At least she was smart enough to take up our parents’ offer to live with them for a while.
Renting a decent place in Boston is almost as expensive as New York, and she couldn’t swing that while also paying off her loans, even with the healthy salary she’s now making. ”
We were quiet for a few minutes as we tucked into our ice cream. I stared down into mine like it could solve all my problems. Maybe it could. A food coma sounded good right now.
“What’s going on, Ella?” Sophia asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you this down since Renee passed.”
“Can I ask you not to repeat this to the family?”
“I’ll give you full client privilege.”
“You remember me talking about my friend Stan at Jacob’s going away?”
She nodded.
“Well, he has some past head trauma and is having tests done today to see if he might have signs of Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, damn.”
“Yeah.”
“Is the threat of chronic illness bringing up all those memories of Renee and your grandpa?”
I nodded.
“He’s not just a friend, is he? You two are romantically involved?”
Her intuition was so next level that when we first met, I thought she was psychic. “Very recently.”
“Okay, so what are you hoping for here? Do you want me to help you sort through all these feelings?”
“Please,” I said, my tone skirting the line of begging.
“The first step is acknowledging them. Tell me what you feel.”
“I’m terrified that the tests might come back positive. And I keep going worst-case scenario with it.”
She set her ice cream bowl in the sink. “What is the worst-case scenario?”
“That he has scarring, that he has tons of abnormal proteins, and that his brain is already showing signs of deterioration. It kills me to think of this sweet, generous, caring man having uncontrollable outbursts, or becoming violent, or suffering from memory loss, or…” I leaned forward, head in my hands.
“It’s okay,” Sophia said, coming over to hug me while I cried.
“And I also feel like an asshole. Like, how do I have any right to be so torn up over this when I’m not even the one going through it?”
She pulled away. “You really like him, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I told her.
“Ella, look at me.”
I craned my head sideways.
She cupped my cheeks and met my eyes, her own full of empathy.
“Your feelings are valid. Your feelings matter. If Jacob were going through the same thing as Stan, I would be doing the emotional equivalent of shitting myself. The threat of a chronic, debilitating illness is terrifying. It’s okay to be afraid for him.
It doesn’t mean that you’re putting your fear above his in any way. ”
“But-”
She let me go and shook her head. “No buts here. Feel the emotions. If you try to suppress them, you’ll only make things worse for yourself. I’m a professional here; I think I know what I’m talking about.”
I grabbed a napkin from the countertop and blotted at my face. “Right. You’re right.”
“You don’t always have to be strong for everyone, you know. You don’t always have to be happy, bubbly Ella.”
“I know that,” I said on reflex.
“Do you? Because whenever I see you sad or angry, you apologize for it.”
I paused, mulling over her words. “Do I really do that?”
“Yes. And whenever someone you care about is sad or angry, instead of talking about it with them, you bend over backward to find some way to distract them or make them laugh.”